


Like A Train Crash

by spitecentral



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fix-It, Gen, Ishval Civil War, Pre-Canon, Trauma, kid!Paninya, we don't see it directly but it's definitely important
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:07:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29610573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spitecentral/pseuds/spitecentral
Summary: When people from Rush Valley asked Dominic if he took customers, he told them no. He was lying. His fifth client of the year was an alchemist whose brother could not stop hovering over his shoulder.Or: In which Dominic helps Ishvalan refugees get fitted for prostheses, and Paninya observes and routinely (accidentally!) makes some very insensitive comments.
Relationships: Paninya & Scar (Fullmetal Alchemist)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	Like A Train Crash

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone I love unlikely friendships and also Scar being happy, have both. Paninya is intended to be ambiguously childish here, but I had her about about 7 to 9. I also may or may not have accidentally made her neurodivergent and I regret nothing. Minor characters include some OCs and Rick, Rio, and their mother (if she had a canon name I apologize I named her Aya).

Although Paninya hadn’t lived with Dominic for very long, she had a good grasp on how his business worked. Or rather, didn’t. With skills like his, you’d think his business would be thriving, even with his house being so high in the mountains. And yet, in the whole year Paninya had lived with him, he’d only gotten about five clients. 

The first was a mother, blind, missing her left arm. She hadn’t even wanted automail, just a normal prosthesis. Of course, Dominic made her the very best he could (and it was _good_! Even Paninya could see it was good! The wood was shiny and the fingers moved smoothly and Aya said it fit well and there were beautiful flowers carved into it! Paninya liked to run her fingers over them when Aya let her, and almost considered asking for a prosthesis like that herself. Almost). And although it wasn’t his job (Paninya was pretty sure it wasn’t, at least), he’d also made her a nice white cane, so that she’d have something other than the little vision she’d had left to get around.

Dhalia came to pick her up after only a month, which was a shame. She was nice, and her kids weren’t too bad, either. Rick was fun to play with, and Rio fun to tease. They woke up screaming a lot, but Paninya did too, even years after her parents died, so that was okay. But Dominic wasn’t a physical therapist, and Dhalia had more expertise with teaching blind people how to use their cane, so she left. 

Paninya had asked if she could write them, but Ridel gave her a weird smile and said: “Maybe soon.”

The second client was Amir, a man with a snarl permanently attached to his face and his hand blown off. And it was blown off! He said it himself! Paninya wanted to know what had done that, but before he could answer, Satella had called her away for a chore. Amir had wanted fully functional automail, so Dominic made him a brilliant new hand, and he’s stayed for three months after to recover before Dhalia came to pick him up. 

Third was a kid like her, Sara, whose left leg was gone from the knee down. She clutched her dad as she walked in, and didn’t let go a whole lot for the rest of the month she was there. A normal prosthesis for her, too, because her dad thought she was too young for automail, and she was too scared of the surgery and the pain. When Paninya laughed at her for that, Satella gave her a whole afternoon full of chores and a long scolding, but she didn’t need to. Paninya’d already felt bad enough after Sara burst into tears. 

Reem was a woman so old she couldn’t walk straight, even though it’d be easier to compensate for her missing leg if she did. She stayed for longer than the others, a full four months, but she couldn’t get automail. She argued about it, yelling so loud it kept everyone up, but Dominic wouldn’t budge. Paninya didn’t quite understand it, but apparently, the surgery was too dangerous for someone her age, and her scarring was too extensive to safely attach an automail port too, anyway. When she left four months later, with a common prosthesis, she’d tried to act angry, but nobody bought it. She was crying.

Paninya’s knees were so scarred she didn’t even feel it when she pressed her fingers into them. The surgery hadn’t hurt as much as it could’ve, as a result, so she counted herself lucky for it. But she couldn’t help but wonder, late at night when she studied the long raised lines creeping out from under her ports, how bad scarring must be for it to disqualify you from automail surgery. 

Dominic’s shop was strange. Even Paninya, who didn’t know anything about shops at all, realized that pretty quickly. They went without clients for months, and even when they did have them, they never seemed to pay. Nobody seemed to know when the clients were coming, always hurrying to make the guest room when they arrived, and yet, Dominic routinely refused potential customers who came knocking at the door, informing them that they had a waiting list that was full for several years at least. When those people came knocking, their clients kept out of sight, staying still. Rick and Rio immediately stopped playing, freezing mid-wave, and even Sara’s cries were quiet, instead of her usual loud sobs.

All their clients were Ishvalan, and Paninya wasn’t stupid. By the time Sara came in, she’d figured out the pattern. So when someone down in Rush Valley asked her if Dominic was working on a new customer, she looked them straight in the eye and told them no. 

The last client of the year was a tall, thin man named Ahmed, who had a nice smile and a missing arm. He came with his brother, who refused to give a name. Mr. No-Name was even taller and about twice as wide, made of pure muscle. A gigantic X-shaped scar ran across his face, and he probably would’ve looked scary even if he’d smiled. Not that he did. He was as grumpy as his brother was nice, glaring at Dominic from above his brother’s shoulder anytime they talked. He was kinda like Amir, and although Paninya hadn’t liked Amir at all, she hadn’t understood the Situation, back then. She’d been mad at everyone and everything for years after her parents died, and the train hadn’t even done it on purpose. So, well, she couldn’t blame him, she supposed. 

“This healed well,” Dominic said, examining Ahmed’s shoulder. “So well, in fact, I got trouble believing someone up high didn’t interfere.” He sat back and raised an eyebrow. 

Ahmed laughed, but there was a nervous tinge to it, tugging at the ends of his shirt. Above him, No-Name’s glare seemed to deepen. “Ah, I really do feel like Ishvalla saved me, that day,” he said, never dropping his smile, his voice about an octave higher than it strictly needed to be. 

“He healed it,” No-Name cut in, startling Paninya. It was the first time he’d spoken. His voice was deep and had a pleasant rumble to it, almost pleasant enough to make her ignore how pissed he sounded. “With alchemy.”

Dominic’s eyes flitted to the man’s leftover arm. Paninya followed his gaze to the strange tattoos on it, the ones that matched his brother’s. The two of them made a very noticeable pair for a whole list of reasons (they must’ve gotten very lucky, if they’d avoided the military thus far), but those tattoos surely had to take the top spot. They were unlike anything Paninya had seen before, so perfectly complimentary and yet, on completely different people. 

“Are you alchemists?” she asked, trying to lean closer to examine No-Name’s tattoos. If Dominic payed attention to them, they must be important. But before she could get a good look at them, No-Name snatched his arm away. 

“No,” he snapped. “I’m not.” And for once, the glare shifted from Dominic to his brother. 

Ahmed coughed. “I am, though,” he admitted. “Though I actually healed my shoulder with alkahestry - that’s a Xingese version of alchemy, it specializes in healing, among other things. And even then, I got very lucky that some doctors were nearby.”

“Hm.” Dominic shifted over to further analyze the scar tissue. “Good job, I guess. A wound like that would’ve caused anyone else to bleed out.”

At that, Ahmed grew even stiffer, and No-Name’s glare more intense.

“Were you worried he’d die?” Paninya asked no name, idly rocking her wheelchair back and forth. His head snapped towards her, and for a moment, Dominic looked ready to throw himself between them. 

Then No-Name took a deep breath, turned around, and left the room. 

Later, Satella explained to her what a rude question that had been, that it’d put him on the spot to talk about his trauma. It was like asking her if she’d been scared when the train crashed. Of course she was, but she wouldn’t want to tell a near-stranger that, would she?

Well. When you put it like that.

“I’m sorry,” she said. She was leaning forward on the writing table, moving her weight to her arms. Her legs still couldn’t hold her weight for very long. It’s why she still used her wheelchair, but she liked to try and walk as much as possible. Kicking them sometimes helped relief the pain, so she did, swinging her legs while hanging off the bureau. 

No-Name stiffened, taking a few seconds before turning around. Had she startled him? Possibly. She should’ve thought about that, but, too late now. 

“Sorry for asking you if you were worried about your brother dying,” she clarified. “Satella explained to me that it was rude, and kinda mean, so I won’t do it again.” Then, after thinking a bit. “Sorry for startling you, also.”

No-Name blinked at her. She didn’t think he was glaring, but his face was still pretty stony. Maybe that’s just how he looked. 

He sighed. “It’s fine,” he said, and his voice sounded slightly less gruff than before. “You were right. I was worried.”

His arm rubbed a scar on his shoulder, right above where his tattoos started. The ones that were eerily similar to his brother’s. Dominic had started watching them when Ahmed had mentioned alchemy.

“Are those alchemy tattoos?” she asked. 

He froze. She thought a little. If they were alchemy tattoos, and No-Name can’t do alchemy, then -

Wow, okay. That’s. A lot.

“Sorry,” she said again. “You don’t have to answer that. I’m not very good at this.”

Paninya counted, and it took three seconds before he unfroze this time. She wondered what the average was. Maybe she’d keep track. 

“It’s fine,” he repeated. He squeezed his scar one last time, then dropped his arm abruptly. Still, it looked like his fingers were itchy; he kept rubbing them against his pant leg. Dominic did that, too, sometimes, when he was nervous but wouldn’t admit it. 

“I was scared when the train crashed,” she offered. He frowned. “It’s how I got this,” she gestured towards her automail. “And dead parents.”

The frown didn’t disappear, but grew more confused. “I’m... sorry?”

Paninya cocked her head. “For what?”

“Losing your parents. And your legs.”

She shrugged. “Hardly your fault.” Then she stopped mid-swing. “Oh! You were wondering why I told you!” The frown lessened a little, so that meant she was right. “You see, you told me you were scared, so I told you I was scared. It’s being polite.”

“I see.” He nodded towards her. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

The conversation died after that, and No-Name continued putting on his pajamas. The candlelight caught his scar, making it look like a candle. 

“If you don’t wanna tell me your name, can I call you Scar?” she asked. 

He stopped buttoning up his shirt and stared at her. She frowned. Wait -

“Oh, that’s rude, right? Sorry. Again.” She rubbed her neck. “Like I said. I’m really not good at this.”

No-Name just blinked. Then, he coughed, or at least, she thought it did. It kinda sounded like a laugh, but he his his mouth behind his hand, so she couldn’t know for sure. 

“Scar is fine,” he said. His face was still stony, but his eyes were softer now, somehow. 

“Great!” She wanted to jump off the table, but just in time, remembered how much that would hurt, so she slowly let herself slide off it instead. “See you tomorrow, then!”

“See you tomorrow,” he replied, solemnly, almost like he was making her a promise. 

Scar wasn’t like Amir at all, she decided. He was actually really nice. Though, to be fair, she was nicer to him than she’d been to Amir, as well. Maybe people were just nicer when you were nice to them. 

The next morning, she stole Scar’s sandwich and insulted his clothes, and the corners of his mouth almost turned up.

Nah. He was just a softie. 


End file.
